


never thought i'd be so unprepared

by derogatory



Series: convince me that you're fine [1]
Category: Warchild Series - Karin Lowachee
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, POV First Person, Past Sexual Abuse, Post-Canon, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-06 10:59:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5414342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/derogatory/pseuds/derogatory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Musey has the same knifelike stare that Yuri does. Maybe this kid walks too. And the captain and every other person those monsters cleaved through. Maybe Yuri and Musey have to fight to feel normal and either I concede first or we go at this for hours. No victories, only battles, and it's a product of my experience with Yuri that I know a loop when I see it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	never thought i'd be so unprepared

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yourinsomnia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourinsomnia/gifts).



As far as I can tell, nothing fazes Piotr. For all the bullshit tossed our way on _Macedon_ , he seems to be the least affected by it. It doesn't make sense to me since Piotr was a pirate the longest, with the least reason to leave. But I don't know his story, and he hasn't got mine. 

But me not knowing doesn't mean he's quiet. Not even close. A jet guards marches us through the halls and Piotr has a song in his throat, a whistle between his teeth.

I glare at him hoping he'll get the hint. But he just gets louder. Pretending not to notice. 

Don't think anything could get to him. Maybe a meteor shower. Definitely not this kid that escorts us sometimes, reluctantly leading the way between medical and our quarters. He doesn't wear fatigues, sat in on our interviews. Musey.

Waiting for the lev, the kid directs a stony look at Piotr. Nobody's skin's so thick he can't feel a stare that sour, but the old man doesn't miss a note. 

Musey doesn't drop that face even when we reach the level where we're housed.

"What?" he says, and I realize I must've been smiling. I nod at Piotr.

"He's annoying, right?" Musey doesn't say anything or smile either, and Piotr sings even louder after a pointed stare between us.

  


* * *

  


When I get back, Yuri is lying on his bunk. He's been there long enough that Dexter's fallen asleep against his chest. I watch the two of them knowing they both have the capacity to be up in seconds, shrill and demanding. 

I settle onto my own bunk and Yuri speaks up, "They want me to help find out who sabotaged _Archangel_."

He's in a lousy mood. I can hear it in his voice. But talking black op deals and pirate schemes sounds like even less fun than our work in medical, elbows deep in blood.

"How would we know something like that?" I tug my boots off. "Besides, they probably died when they blew it up."

"You don't blow a ship without an escape plan." He has the kind of confidence that only comes from experience. "And don't worry about it. Nobody's asking you." In the dimness of our quarters, Yuri's expression is all hard angles. His voice too.

"Don't talk to me like that." Our quarters feel too small sometimes. Other times I feel like the meter between our bunks is insurmountable, mostly at sleepshift. 

"Like what?" He runs a finger idly over Dexter's feathers.

"Like you're the one who has all the control." 

"I don't." Yuri's eyes are locked on the sleeping bird. "I never did. They do."

He's getting maudlin, so I stretch one leg over the side of the bunk and kick him. A hiss, and his leg snakes out as well, kicking me back with painful precision. He's still wearing his boots. Dexter's up and shrieking furiously over our laughter.

  


* * *

  


At night Yuri tucks his body against mine and sleeps. He's near enough I could trace the shell of his ear with my lips. I wonder if he wants that, or if I do. 

I fall asleep before I decide.

  


* * *

  


Even if I'm not a pirate, I can't go anywhere outside our quarters without an escort. Before Yuri arrived on _Macedon_ they left me alone, but now Azarcon keeps us busy. Sometimes a jet brings Yuri and me to medbay, sometimes me and Piotr to engineering, or some other volunteer job that needs doing. 

Right now I'm stopped in a hallway with Musey. He's talking with some young guy who intercepted us. Musey is standing between me and him, blocking him from view, but he's not that tall. The other guy's not in fatigues, but that doesn't mean much with the ship's new refugees. People will wear what you give them when most of their stuff is covered in blood.

"You're escorting him?" the new kid speaks up, sounding amused for some reason. He turns too-blue eyes on me. Comprehension settles on his face and I feel myself scowling. Yuri is used to being recognized; I'm not.

"You're Yuri's—" he hesitates and every nerve in my body tenses. The rest of this encounter rests on whatever word the kid lands on. "—roommate. Right?" I nod, try not to think about what else this guy knows about Yuri and me. 

"This isn't the time for chitchat," says Musey.

He ignores him. "I'm Ryan," he says, then adds, "Azarcon."

When I was working at the shipyard I didn't pay much attention to the Send. There was never anything on it but bad news I couldn't do anything about, gaudy advertisements for shit I couldn't afford, and gossip. So the first time I heard this kid's name wasn't through the Send's perverse celebrity watching. It wasn't even through the hushed conversations between doctors in _Macedon's_ medbay, or in snickering remarks from the jet guards. The first time I heard that name was from Yuri's lifeless voice in the dark of our cell.

He's a frightening reimagination of his father, but I guess all children are.

Ryan outstretches his hand, open palmed and fingers pointing out. An EarthHub custom I'm not going to oblige. I had no reason to paw at strangers where I'm from, and I don't see much sense in starting now. 

Besides, the gesture is too candid for what I know about him and Yuri. 

Musey momentarily looks surprised before swatting Azarcon Jr.'s hand away.

"Will you relax?" Ryan says waspishly. "I'm just being friendly."

"We can talk later," Musey says with a note of finality. Ryan clenches his jaw and trades glares with him before finally standing down. The captain's kid nods at me and walks away. I wonder if he and Musey are friends when pirates aren't around.

"What was that about? Are you his bodyguard?" I ask. Yuri's mentioned someone like that for Azarcon's kid, and Musey isn't a jet. Maybe that slap had been more for Ryan's benefit than mine.

Musey doesn't even look back to see if I'm following him. Whenever we're escorted by other jet guards, they walk with us out first, march us in a line like in the prison, their rifles at our backs. But when it's just him, Musey leads the way, his disinterest palpable. He knows there's nowhere we could slip away, and I'm willing to bet he's a lot faster than me even if I tried.

It's quiet without Piotr. But the mood feels lighter after that pit stop with Ryan.

"You're not as chatty as the other guards."

"Because they want you to know how much they hate pirates," Musey replies quickly, tone icy and closed, but his words are open to debate.

"I'm not a pirate."

"You're following orders from one." That's harder to argue. 

I watch the back of his head while we walk. Yuri told me Musey's story, short admissions of someone else's history: He was Falcone's protégé before Yuri, now he's with the strits. An alien lover and a pirate, no wonder these jets aren't happy with him either. The war with the strits never ended and nobody officially declared one against the pirates.

"He hates me because I didn't run," Yuri said once in the dark. 

"You ran."

His back was laced to my body, but I still could tell he was smiling. "Too little, too late."

  


* * *

  


I've started memorizing the jets that give Yuri trouble. Guys who bring him back bruised and subdued. It's not as many as you'd think, but it's enough. I memorize their tags when they haven't turned them over. Poliakiwski's good, Matthias is bad. Javier talks too much, but is decent. Henderson doesn't even wipe the blood off his knuckles when he's finished.

Yuri tells me not to worry that he'll do something stupid, but sometimes the stupid thing is to do nothing. Neither of us feel secure about the locks when they're on the outside of the door, and Yuri says 'Don't worry' when he only relaxes in my arms.

He catches me eyeing his split lip and I turn back to the manual in my lap. But I don't read.

Yuri laughs grimly. "What? You want me to pick fights like it's prison?"

"Of course not." I flip through some pages on hydraulics. "I just don't want to see you being taken advantage of."

"So don't watch."

Now I look up. I know my looks aren't as intense as his, but I don't have as many tools as he does. 

"Why don't you drop it?" he continues, doesn't look away from me either. "It's nothing like what I had to do to get out of prison."

That gets under my skin, although it's probably one of the few times when he's not trying to.

"I know, I was there." Gritting my teeth so hard I can feel a headache building. This argument won't go anywhere. Yuri is going to let people railroad him because he wants to stay on this ship, and there's shit all he wants me to do about it. He used to giving up control. 

But we have to think of where we'll be when it's not inside a prison. Yuri won't let himself think like that. Probably hasn't in a long time.

I sigh, setting the manual aside. "If it was happening to me, what would you do? And don't say 'nothing' because we've been here before."

Only the prison feels like bio years ago. Don't think I was any happier than I am now, just different. I don't know how to chapter my life, what lines of division I should draw. Before my parents died or before that CO was assigned. Before I used Yuri or before I started wanting him to use me. It's difficult to map out the boundaries for things I don't know if I want yet.

Yuri's expression darkens. "Something you can't do." 

And he meant to get under my skin that time. He won't fight with the jets, but he'll fight with my concern until this carrier turns to rust.

  


* * *

  


I think he won't come to me that blueshift, but he does. During goldshift we punish each other in other ways, but there's something different in the dark. In that dark where he used to drag his feet in a space not much bigger than this, talk like he was years away. In some ways he was. He was a kid pacing our cell, reciting tragedies from his past. 

And in the wakeshift he was the bastard that bruised me, that held my hips down under one hand. He's stronger than he looks, I thought through wet noises and winces. I don't think that anymore. 

Now in the dark he's quiet and gentle. He asks permission and I haven't figured out who he's afraid of hurting. There are blockades of sheets and distance between us.

His back is tense against my chest and I know he wants to walk.

  


* * *

  


Yuri tells me to let it go. Wants me to live with him getting roughed up, and I try. I really try, at least until a jet pins Yuri to the wall with arm at his neck, and threatens to blast another hole between Yuri's legs.

"I want to talk to the captain," I say.

It's the next shift and Musey doesn't spare me a glance, eyes forward. "I don't keep his schedule."

"You think it's better to ask those jets?" Smug soljet bastards linger at the edges of our walks. 

Musey pauses long enough that I'm already considering other options.

"Is this about Kirov?" he asks. His tone is so heavy I expect he wants an award for saying anything at all.

I nod. Musey shoots me a low, suspicious look. Reminds me of playing cards with Yuri, his open derision of my poker face. 

"Please," I add, insincerely, but it doesn't buy much favor with the kid anyway. We finish the trek to engineering in silence and my fingers flex at my side. 

Piotr stays blissfully silent. He wasn't there when I saw Yuri get knocked around, but maybe somebody told him. Or maybe he can tell when I want to punch someone's teeth in. I regret thinking about tossing him out the airlock last week.

  


* * *

  


The captain intercepts us the next time Musey escorts me alone. I don't know if it was the kid's doing but he hangs back when the captain orders me aside. Azarcon expects me to say something, and it takes a second to collect my thoughts. I'd stopped preparing what I'd say when Musey shot me down originally.

"There are jets hurting him," I start. 

The captain nods, because of course he knows what goes on in his own ship, even if it's a rogue carrier filled past maximum occupancy. Of course he knows and doesn't care. I'm starting to see why Yuri blew me off. 

"Yuri's used to that kind of treatment after prison, but at least he could get away with fighting back when we were— He's not doing that here. Out of respect for you taking a chance on him."

Belatedly I wonder if I'm supposed to say 'sir.' Azarcon took a chance on me too, could've just told Otter to blow my head off in the gutters of Austro. I'm grateful he didn't, but I don't do loyalty and debts as much as other people do. Just because you did someone a favor doesn't mean they owe you anything back. You shouldn't do the right thing and expect to be rewarded.

Azarcon's looking at me like he's debating if taking me on had been the right thing after all. 

"And Yuri thinks that things could be much worse, which is a dumbass thing to think." 

Azarcon's all cool stares, as incomprehensible as marble slate. This is the most I've said to the captain outside of my initial interview on _Macedon_. Not like there was a hell of a lot more to say; Yuri's trying to help, I'm not a pirate, sorry you weren't fast enough to save that carrier, but it's not our fault.

"And. That's all." I have a bad taste in my mouth from talking about Yuri behind his back, even with good intentions. 

The captain doesn't waste any time.

"I told Kirov that my crew has no love for pirates, and that includes people who associate with them." I bet in a conversation with Azarcon there aren't a lot of victories. But he isn't saying this dismissively, just making a counterpoint. About as much encouragement as I figure I'll get.

"I know, but Yuri doesn't want to screw this up. He'd let your men tear him to pieces if he thought it would help." I saw that happen in prison, I'm not in a hurry to see it again. "I appreciate everything you've done, but even you have to think that's stupid."

He stands still, loosely grasping one wrist behind his back.

"Are you telling me to dictate to my jets? Or look the other way if Kirov lays one of them up in medical?"

"I don't have a right to ask you anything—"

"You're right, you don't." His words are steel and I flinch.

"But Yuri—" He rolls over me like I never even started talking,

"I am accommodating eight thousand jets in a carrier equipped for six, two thousand of which are freshly under my command after the loss of their ship."

I feel my jaw setting into a place that normally gets me punched. "Yuri helps with those jets. He doesn't have to, but he does, unasked."

"I'm aware of his activities." He's not going to let me get a word in edgewise, so I shut up. Azarcon seems to glance at a point over my shoulder before taking a long breath. "I'll review the jets I've slated to escort him." I don't understand what he means at first. "You won't find anyone sympathetic to pirates on this ship, but I'll try to assign more," he pauses, looks like he's considering the word, "dedicated jets."

I'm expecting a "but" or some other impossible condition. When neither come, I thank him and go back to Musey. I don't want to wait for the captain to change his mind. Don't think I need to wait to be excused either, since I'm not a jet, but Yuri's right. These people have all the control.

  


* * *

  


Musey's looks are a drill into my skull. "Don't expect something like that again," he says.

"That's fine." We're back to walking.

Something I said must've really rubbed Musey raw because he keeps pushing. "You can't protect him."

"I know, that's why I asked Azarcon." _Keep up,_ I want to add, but I don't. I must wear it on my face, because the kid snipes at me again, barbed replies,

"He's had worse."

My life on this ship is like a collection of thin knots. With every cold judgement of Yuri, Musey tugs at a dozen strings, pulling them tighter. "Why do you both keep saying that? Is it a pirate thing?" 

He rounds on me and we stop.

"I'm not a pirate," Musey snaps.

"Yuri isn't either." I counter and he looks like he wants to hit me. In that expression I see all the people who put hands on me; my CO, Wex, Dulay, Taja. Varying degrees of how bad it got. Distantly I guess Yuri ought to be there, or maybe I'm on his list.

I must've worn it on my face again because Musey drops it, turns back around. We walk in silence and neither of us are naive enough to apologize.

  


* * *

  


Yuri doesn't come back to quarters with any more split lips. If he figures it's because of me or Azarcon, he doesn't say.

Henderson doesn't come around anymore either, which is great because he used to shove my head forward when he thought I wasn't walking fast enough. Yuri saw him do it once. Looked like he was halfway to committing a crime. He has a short fuse for somebody putting hands on me, but I can't tell him what I'd do to protect him.

Double standards are the language of what we have together. That's one constant I can count on.

Yuri crawls into the bunk with me as usual, but he doesn't turn his back to me this time. His chin digs against my collarbones, his breath hot along my neck. 

Everything around me is Yuri. His skin under my hands and his light breathing in my ear. He's close enough that we're sharing air. 

Maybe Yuri wants this, or maybe he's working up to it. Or maybe he thinks I expect this. I didn't ask Azarcon for help to get something in return, especially not from Yuri. Not like this. We've used each other enough already.

I swallow hard, and his legs slide against mine, dangerously close.

Can't think about the things that come to mind when he's against me like this. Instead, I remember the wine red bruises that spread over my mother's skin when her illness had reached its final stage. The pattern laced up her arms, the paralysis seeping into her limbs and gradually robbing her of her independence. She died stiff and scarred, in slow agony. I never want to think about it, but it does the job when Yuri puts his hands low at my waist.

Yuri must see it on my face. In the half light he watches me and his mouth twists. 

When he tries to leave, I rest an arm over his shoulders. Whatever he was trying to do— he doesn't have to. We both know that; this isn't prison, even if some days it doesn't feel that way. I didn't expect anything for helping him. I just wanted to keep him safe somehow. We're responsible for eachother, even if Yuri has looked out for me enough already.

He rests under my arm even though I know he could pull away. He could pin me down, break me open worse than he already has.

"Stay," I ask, because neither of us have enough control over this to give orders. 

He leans his head against my chest.

  


* * *

  


Everything's fine, all things considered, until Musey brings Yuri back with bruises.

The ship melts around me, pressure gauges shrieking in protest down the assembly lines. I'm mad and I'm back in the shipyard. I feel the tools under my fingers, bitten and raw. That next shift it hurt to get dressed, to stand and act like nothing happened. It was like the other workers were staring at me, even when I knew they weren't.

My CO stands by me, near enough to press himself to my back. I don't catch anything he says beyond "again" before my vision whites out. Feel something burning in my palm, and the wet wash of blood over my arms. I push it deeper, like he did to me, and someone's screaming—

"Finch," Yuri takes my shoulders under his hands. I'm back on _Macedon_ , where anger is intoxicating but unproductive. I blink it out of the way. It's never done me any favors. It didn't do me much good on Hephaestus, either. 

My limbs feel numb, tingling from the pads of my fingers. Yuri runs his hands from my shoulders down my arms, this gentle, placating motion. It grounds me in its strangeness, distracts me from his bruises. 

I didn't even see Musey leave.

"Finch, it's not like that. He defended me."

  


* * *

  


It's a few shifts later when Musey is assigned to escort me to medical. Just the sight of him brings all my anger front and center. I won't listen to Yuri's voice, telling me that it wasn't the kid's fault. 

"Why didn't you stop those jets?" Yuri told me he had, but I know better. I want to hear the truth. 

The kid can be aggressively narrow. "What are you doing with him?" Of course he dodges the question with one of his own. He's not a jet, but it still feels like an order.

"You don't get to ask me that." My chest is tight.

"Who does? I've listened to the interviews. You won't even tell Azarcon." Musey's gaze is thick with dislike, but he's searching my face for clues. "You could have run too."

"No," I say, because it's true. Running at Austro was never an option, even when Yuri lied about coming back for me. If Azarcon hadn't pulled me onto his carrier I'd probably still be there. Everything good in my life is made up of chances and coincidences, of situations more tragic than good. 

"No, I needed to tell your captain about _Archangel_."

"A lot of good that did."

"Is that why you hate him so much?" I ask. "Because we weren't fast enough? Yuri didn't blow that ship. He tried to prevent it."

"I know that," he retorts and it's kind of thrilling to see him on the defensive for once.

"So why?"

"Why are you with him?" he asks again. 

Musey has the same knifelike stare that Yuri does. Maybe this kid walks too. And the captain and every other person those monsters cleaved through. Maybe Yuri and Musey have to fight to feel normal and either I concede first or we go at this for hours. No victories, only battles, and it's a product of my experience with Yuri that I know a loop when I see it.

Musey gets fed up with waiting for a response and resumes the march to medbay. I have enough battles with one of Falcone's victims, I don't need another. Yuri is enough.

  


* * *

  


In medical, we lose eight wounded _Archangel_ jets to infection. Without training, the most I can do is help carry the bodies, although there isn't really anywhere left to put them. The morgue is overflowing with the brothers that went before them. This ship is cold enough it might as well be a meat locker and we line the walls with body bags.

I work until I want to slide to the floor. I was already tired from that worthless argument with Musey, from staring at the purpling marks on Yuri's body. He's too young to look so worn. Musey's too old to be so stubborn. 

When they take me back to quarters, I need to sink into my bunk for a whole year with Yuri in my arms. Instead he's pacing. At least it's better than sleepwalking.

"You talked to Musey." He's not asking. It's an accusation. Who knows how it got back to him.

"Sure. We're fast friends."

"I already told you he didn't do it." He knocks shoulders with me when he passes in our limited space, taking a seat at his bunk. Yuri's clawed angry red lines from his wrist to his elbow.

"He calls you a pirate," I say. He looks tired. Maybe Azarcon's been grilling him about the spy again. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Nothing. I never asked you to do anything." It's true, Yuri gives orders I don't follow, and I do a lot of things he never approved of. How we are now, it just worked out this way, all chance and risk. We don't have any control over where we've been or where we're going.

He rakes a hand through his hair. "I am a pirate." It's not a concession. 

"Was," I whisper. His moods shift, gunfire quick.

"'Was' means nothing to these people," he snaps. "I'm a pirate, a protégé, and a whore." 

It hangs between us.

"No, you're not."

"Yes I am," Yuri argues, eyes wild. "I have three tattoos that prove you wrong."

He wants me to be frightened. I am frightened, somewhere underneath the other emotions that were exhausted out of me. I am, but not of him. Not anymore. 

He falters as soon as he sees that. Breathes slow, measured breaths. 

I approach him. "That's who they wanted you to be. But they don't get to make those kinds of decisions for you anymore. You do."

Yuri's argument is all over his face, but of course he won't say it. He wants me to be right, and my heart flares with the hope he can't allow himself.

He thumbs the tattoo at the inside of his arm, gaze low when I sit beside him. Reaching over, I push his fingers aside and cover the tattoo with my hand. Scars marr the space below that, pink against his white skin. But I'm not looking at them.

He glances at my hand, then returns my stare. "You can hide it, but it's still there. Like everything else."

"Then that's true about you, too," I tell him and Yuri bows his head. His hair is so fine where it frames his face. I want to reach for it, for him, but it's not blueshift. I don't know the rules. Neither of us have control over what we're allowed to do here, or to each other. "You're still there, under it all."

Reluctantly, I remove my hand from his arm, letting it rest beside me. I don't move away any more than that, but he chases me, reaching for me. Maybe Yuri doesn't know the rules either. Or maybe there aren't any guidelines for how we're supposed to treat each other. 

Better, I think, Yuri's fingers gentle along my jaw. We'll treat each other better than we've done and had done to us.

"So uncover me," he whispers, and his lips are warm.

**Author's Note:**

> shit well that jos&finch friendship didn't work out like i expected. i'm sorry!!!! BUT HEY YURI/FINCH RIGHT? I tried. Maybe someday I'll write another chapter where finch and jos really talk it out. happy yuletide from one warbaby to another!


End file.
